


Flower of Scotland

by TheDevilWearsMiuMiu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilWearsMiuMiu/pseuds/TheDevilWearsMiuMiu
Summary: AU: Hermione Granger arrives for her first year at Hogwarts, where she crosses paths with a fascinating Scottish girl that equals her in skill and intelligence.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	Flower of Scotland

When I found out that I was a witch, I could not have been happier. It is, after all, every child in the non-magical world’s dream, is it not?

I was also glad to be leaving my old school for another school, I had been known as a swot there and had always felt different. Perhaps this was the reason, I thought when a marvelous witch with scarlet robes and a most regal bearing appeared at my family’s house and informed us of the fact that I could, in fact, perform magic. I had a special capability, a gift and perhaps that truly was the source of my having always felt out of place.

At the magical school, Hogwarts it was called, I hoped to finally be able to find friends and become part of a community – something that had always appeared to come so easily to other people, but never myself. 

I was also nervous, of course, for there were no guarantees that this was going to be better, and I was entering a whole new world that I knew nothing about. Alright, I had read as many books as I could get my hands on during the summer, trying to make up for a whole childhood that those coming from magical homes had spent learning about the things that made up our world in passing.

It was those aspects that scared me, the ones that one instinctively picked up as a child, if that was the kind of environment that one grew up in. I was aware that I could not make up for all of it with academic knowledge and facts reproduced in books – after all to read did not mean to see in this case, and even the books I bought had not been written with people from non-magical homes in mind. The books often lacked that which was often assumed to be already known to the reader, that which was just “common sense”, one might say.

I did not feel wholly adequate; I will admit it. I could not help but look around myself in wonder, my mouth open, my eyes wide like those of a non-magical child entering a world of dreams, of magic – a world in which much was possible that I had not thought could ever be. Because that is what I was, in the end – I was a non-magical child who was allowed entry into a realm that I adored from the very first second, yet didn’t know if I would ever truly belong to.

Belonging is a funny thing; many people take it for granted, it seems. I, on the other hand, had never seemed to belong anywhere. Not my school, not my neighborhood, and while I loved my parents and had been provided with a good and comfortable childhood, they too had often felt incredibly foreign to me.

How was it possible, I often thought, to grow up in a house with people, to know them so well and to have spent more time with them than with anyone else, to share their blood and genes, and yet feel like you did not truly belong with them. They were familiar but strangers, they were always there, yet rarely seemed to comprehend my heart and mind.

When the elegant, dark-haired lady appeared at our doorstep, it seemed that finally there might be an explanation for the foreignness I’d always felt. If I was magical, surely that must be why I had never fit perfectly with my parents.

And yet the question remained of how two non-magical parents could have a magical child, of how four non-magical grandparents could have a magical granddaughter. If our characteristics and traits were determined by our genes, surely there would have to be some genetic link to the magical community? But I could find none and even the lovely and knowledgeable lady that had answered all my questions with great patience and wisdom could provide none.

In the magical part of London’s King’s Cross train station or inside the Hogwarts Express on my way to magical Scotland, at the latest, I realized that I was indeed very much foreign in this world, too. And for a couple of despairing hours on my way up north, I felt certain that I would never belong anywhere. At the very least, I would always remain a foreigner in both the magical and non-magical worlds, never belonging to one unquestionably and undeniably with the entirety of my being.

Much as I had been looking forward to my days at this school, to gaining sheer endless amounts of knowledge that I could not yet fathom; to fitting in better, at least, than I had at home; and to finally finding the great friends I had never had; the train ride alone disabused me of my hopes and expectations.

I exchanged a couple of words with a nervous shy boy named Neville, who was looking for his pet toad, which had run away, but despite my best efforts of engaging him in conversation and helping him search for his toad, he seemed only interested in determining his pet’s whereabouts, and not in making friends. 

Finally, I made my way towards an almost empty compartment, shared only by a rude red-headed boy, who kept stuffing his face with an unspeakable amount of chocolate and candy, and one other boy. He might throw up yet, I thought disgustedly, and I certainly did not want to be there for that.

The second boy was Harry Potter, a legend in the wizarding world, as I had read, and considered something of a celebrity, I supposed. Despite his notoriety, he seemed rather shy, but was nice when he did dare open his mouth to engage in conversation.

I did not feel uncomfortable sharing the rest of the ride with the two of them, but I did feel lonely nonetheless. While I could see myself being friendly with Harry Potter in the future, the train ride had not lived up to my, perhaps unrealistic, expectation of finding friends that I could spend meals and breaks at the new school talking to.

And not just meals and break times – after all, unlike my former school, this was a boarding school and I would be spending all my time except for Christmas and summer holidays here. The infinite expanse of time loomed large, and while I had always known how to occupy myself with reading and studying, both rather solitary activities where I was concerned, the idea of spending hours each day by myself and without anyone to exchange thoughts and ideas with, while the others frolicked and enjoyed themselves as children and teenagers who were not strange like me usually did, frightened me to no ends.

There was a moment, no in fact there were about 30 minutes of silence, while Harry stared out of the window with a wondrous expression on his face – like he, too, could not believe that he was actually here – and Ron snored, his mouth, clothes and seat smeared with melted chocolate and squashed candy, during which I could barely keep myself from crying.

This was supposed to have been it for me – my chance at a better life, the opportunity to make friends, develop relationships and feel happy outside of academic pursuits as well. Yet, I felt like a little girl who was all alone in this world, who convinced herself with each passing hour that things would never get better for her, now that the long-awaited escape had once again failed to manifest.

Even here, within this magical world and gifted with other-worldly abilities that I was indeed deeply grateful for, the world did not give me what I sought. Did not provide what I needed. Or perhaps it was me, perhaps I was indeed such a strange kind of being that I could never ever fit, not within the magical world, not within the non-magical world, not in England, Scotland or Australia.

I could only imagine that Harry, despite his shyness, must have a lot of people in his life who loved and listened to him. He was certainly popular within this world, that much was clear. Obviously, in that moment there was nobody with him but a sleeping Ron and myself but he seemed unbothered by the lack of conversational partners and friends. That must be what it is like, I thought, if one has so many people in one’s life and is so beloved that hours spent on a train ride with one’s own thoughts do not bother you, but are a welcome respite.

I thought about which House I might be sorted into – since I was a seeker of knowledge more than anything else, I believed that Ravenclaw was likely – and whether there would be somebody who would happily chat with me at dinner. It did not seem likely, yet I did not want to give up hope.

Ravenclaw and it’s curious, studious members might still understand me and the wisdom I desperately sought. The way they were described in Hogwarts: A History, they seemed unlikely to laugh at my ambition or shake their heads at my passion for studying and finding answers to the countless questions the world prompted.

As the elegant Transfiguration Professor with the kind eyes and pretty chestnut brown hair put the Sorting Hat on my head, I closed my eyes tightly. “Hmm… Hermione Granger,” it whispered. “Certainly one of the more difficult choices of the evening.” “Am I?” “Indeed.” With most students, it is quite obvious, but with you… You have an all-encompassing passion for knowledge that would make you fit perfectly into Rowena’s house But of course you already know this.”

“Yet you are uncertain?” I was truly wondering. “Indeed, Miss Granger. Let me put it this way: you will have a very big choice to make in your life. Will you live the life that you are destined for? Will you be the person that you are destined to be, despite the fact that it will not be easy? It will take great courage to remain yourself in the face of adversity, but the reward would be great personal happiness.”

“Truly?” The fact that I was surrounded by hundreds of students and dozens of my new teachers had, if I had not quite forgotten about it entirely, certainly retreated into the background of my mind. I could not see them and barely heard the noises made and words exchanged. I heard nothing but the hat’s voice, which was surprisingly empathetic and calming.

“I assure you, dear girl, boundless joy does await, if you can bring up the courage. Your heart has the capacity to but what will your choice be? If you wish to walk the path of courage, your house shall, of course, be Gryffindor.”

“Can I ask,” I continued timidly. “What exactly you mean by boundless joy and great happiness?” “I would be disappointed if you hadn’t asked me to specify. A loyal, happy friendship and later in your school career, an exciting but soothing love awaits. You can have everything, Miss Granger but it will take the daring of Gryffindor’s children.”

“I’ll take it.” “I thought so. Congratulations, Hermione Granger, on you go to…”

“GRYFFINDOR!” he shouted, as I dazedly opened my eyes and stumbled my way to the right table, taking a seat next to twin boys with red hair like the ill-mannered boy on the train – Ronald Weasley he was called, as I had later found out. “Welcome, welcome!” they chorused and I smiled back at them gratefully. I didn’t think they’d be the great friends I’d been promised but they seemed funny and clever. 

“I’m Hermione Granger.” “Fred and George Weasley.” “Pleasure.” “The pleasure is ours, young lady. It appears that the hat was on the fence where you were concerned. Tell us, which was the other house that he deliberated on? Was it…” one of the twins mock-whispered. “Sleazy Slytherin?” I laughed, “Fred or George, I would never be considered for Slytherin. But if you really want to know, it was Ravenclaw.”

“George,” he pointed to himself. “I bow to you, almost-daughter of Ravenclaw.” He actually did bow and I couldn’t but laugh once more. Perhaps my time here truly wouldn’t be as lonely and awkward as I had feared. “Your intelligence must exceed ours,” he winked. “But truly,” Fred interjected. “You must be quite clever, we greatly admire the girls of Ravenclaw…” “But,” George took over once more. “You will have a great deal more fun in Gryffindor.” “I can see that.”

I turned back to watch a girl with long ebony braids and a green tartan skirt climb the podium. If only I could be as self-assured and elegant, I thought as she turned unblinkingly, receiving the hat. Her eyes seemed to challenge everyone who was watching her, before she closed them as I had. However, other than myself, she appeared serene as she did so, confident and untouchable.

“Another hatstall,” George whispered to my left. “Does it happen often?” I dared inquire without taking my eyes off the girl in the tartan skirt. “Not particularly, no. 3-4 times per sorting ceremony, I’d say.” I nodded absent-mindedly. I wondered which houses this girl was being considered for, whether she was being given a choice and whether her choice was anything like mine. Was it about friendship and love? Or about ambition, knowledge or belonging?

“If one is a hatstall like this girl or myself…” I wondered aloud. “Yes?” Fred encouraged. “Does one always get a choice in the matter? Because I did.” “One does, and usually, though not always, the hat will abide by the student’s choice.” 

“Thank you.” “Oh you’re very welcome, Hermione Granger. We love imparting knowledge to our fellow students, maybe you could mention that to one of our professors as well. They don’t quite seem to believe it,” they chuckled.

The girl, still standing there, serene and unbothered, wore a silver charm necklace around her neck and I wondered what it was and whether it was magical.

“This stall is longer than yours,” George saw fit to inform me. “This one’s a powerful little witch,” Fred said. “I can tell.” “Do you know her?” I asked them. “Not personally, no. But she’s from an old and powerful wizarding family. That doesn’t always make you powerful but she’s got it. They’ve been living away from the wizarding community, I’ve never seen her before but everyone knows their name. And just look at her, I wouldn’t dare pull a prank on this one.”

I rolled my eyes, though I genuinely hoped that they would not pull a prank on me either.

“Miss…” I was close enough to hear the hat whisper. “Your path to greatness leads through… GRYFFINDOR!” 

The girl opened her eyes and her lips curled up into a small smile, she threw her braids back over her shoulders and made her way towards our table with much more secure steps than I had – there was no reluctance and no fear, and certainly no clumsiness. I wondered how I would live up to the courage expected here, I truly did.

Surprisingly the girl made her way towards the seat next to mine unblinkingly. “Hello,” she stuck out her hand. I was slow and clumsy to react but her handshake was firm. “I’m Minerva McGonagall.” The boys had said she was Scottish but from the way she spoke, it was truly unmistakeable.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you!” “You as well,” she gave another small smile. And in that moment, I wished that this girl could become my friend. But she seemed much too cool, pretty and confident to be friends with a strange girl like me. 

“You do realize,” George leaned across me. “That that was one of the longest stalls in the history of this hat.” “The longest, he told me,” she winked. “Call me impressed. I’m George Weasley and this is my slightly less charming brother Fred.” Fred punched his arm then, but George just shrugged, “It’s not my fault!”

“Minerva,” she introduced herself to them as well, as though they were not fighting at all. “Goddess of Wisdom and War!” Fred grinned, finally stopping the physical assault on his brother. The Roman equivalent to Athena, I thought.

“Which means that you should never challenge me to a duel,” she grinned mischievously. “We wouldn’t dare,” George put his palms up in a gesture of peace. “Nobody would,” Fred assured her and she stuck her tongue out at the both of them before turning back to the food.

“I must say I’m quite hungry,” she told me. “Are you?” “Definitely.” “Did you arrive on the Hogwarts Express?” “I did.” Giving this fascinating girl monosyllabic responses was the last thing I wanted but somehow, I felt tongue-tied. I didn’t want to say anything stupid but ended up appearing stupid for precisely that reason. 

“Part of me would have loved to arrive on that train. It seems like part of the experience – and of the memories that those who have attended Hogwarts in the past retain – but my family lives up in Caithness, it simply would not have made sense.” “That sounds beautiful. Living in Northern Scotland, I mean.”

She sighed, “It is. To me, anyhow. I suppose it might not be appreciated by many city people. Or people used to milder climates.” I nodded. “How about you, where are you from?” “Surrey, outside of London, but it’s not like…” I stopped. What was I saying? Minerva was just making small talk, she certainly wasn’t asking to look into the depths of my soul.

“It’s not like?” she prodded. Now it was my turn to sigh, albeit inwardly. “I wouldn’t say that I’m a typical Londoner or a typical Surrey girl… It is just that I don’t know if I would want to live there forever. Not that it is bad. But how does one ever know that one would love to spend one’s life in a certain place?”

She wrinkled her nose in thought and I put a piece of salmon on my plate to distract myself from my embarrassment. “You know, I could spend my whole life in Scotland. I really could. I don’t need anything else but on the other hand, ambition does at times take one to other places. I imagine.”

I nodded. “What is your ambition?” Perhaps that was too personal a question to ask – I really did feel as though I kept messing up in this conversation with Minerva, despite the fact or precisely because I relished it. 

“I want to have a career. Admittedly, I don’t know in which sector yet but I definitely want to have a career.” “Me too.” A moment of understanding passed between the two of us and she smiled at me, her teeth small and pearly – but not in a bleached or unnatural kind of way. 

“What is your ambition?” she returned the question. I felt, at times, that our conversation was like a tennis match. “I grew up in the non-magical world,” I admitted. “I always thought I would be a doctor or a lawyer. But now, within this world, the opportunities seem endless and frankly, I don’t know what to choose yet.” “I don’t even know of all the professions that exist here yet,” I made another admission – using a low voice, not wishing to be overheard.

“I grew up in the non-magical world as well,” she said and I looked at her in surprise. A piece of Scottish salmon disappeared in her mouth and she hummed. “What, do I not look it?” But I could tell she was speaking in jest. She was not exactly easy to read, deep mysteries seemed to surround her and yet I seemed to always be able to tell when she was joking. 

“That’s not what I meant, Minerva. I just didn’t realize… the vast, vast majority of people here does come from magical families after all.” The reason why she had grown up within the non-magical world remained unexplained. Fred and George had told me that her family was magical and powerful. Why they had chosen to leave the wizarding world they had not said, and perhaps they didn’t even know themselves.

“I know,” Minerva said. “I find myself in a somewhat rare situation as well. You see, my mother is a witch,” she was speaking more quietly now as well, perhaps not wanting everyone to hear about her family history. I felt honored that she trusted me enough to share such things, despite our short acquaintance. But then it seemed as though that had been pretty much all we had been doing for the past half hour.

“But my father is non-magical. And so my mother gave up magic in order to marry him.” “It is not as though one absolutely has to when marrying a non-magical person,” she explained. “But it is a tricky business. It is of utmost importance that the secret of magic does not become public knowledge, as you probably know. One can’t just go around and tell people, even when it is people that one has fallen in love with. But my father obviously knows, now that my brothers and myself have turned out to have magical powers as well.”

Dessert appeared and she reached for strawberry trifle without looking back up at me. Personally, I felt more hungry for her words than the lovely selection of sweets that had appeared out of nowhere. It was still an awe-inspiring event but somehow Minerva’s story was even more so. I briefly wondered if dessert might appear in my dorm room, if I had a craving for it later and wished for it.

She seemed to consider her next words carefully, what to share and what to keep hidden. Frankly, I wanted to know it all but I did not wish to push. “I grew up in between both worlds, one might say, but then that would not be entirely correct either. My mother shared her knowledge about the magical community with me but she never wanted to dwell on it too much, for father’s sake. Or perhaps her own because she had left that world.”

“Anyhow, I knew what I was getting into and what was expecting me here. But I certainly did not grow up within the magical world as most of the children here have. It is different,” she looked at me expectantly. “I know what you mean. I mean, obviously I don’t know what it is like to have one magical parent but coming here from a different world, it is quite overwhelming, yet wonderful.”

She nodded contentedly. “I have craved coming here,” she whispered. “It takes me away from my parents and the way they live their lives, as I imagine is the case for you, too. But at the same time, this is the world I wish to live in. It is wonderful, and a great gift… Such things are easy to say when one is young, people might tell us, but…” she paused for a moment. “I don’t think I could ever give this world up for marriage,” her voice was the quietest it had been all evening.

I felt as though she was sharing her greatest secret with me, though it might not have been, and I wished to give her something in return. “I have always felt out of place in the non-magical world,” I told her. “I didn’t even know why for the longest time, it was quite confusing. But then, a couple of months ago, when I found out I was a witch, I thought this might be solution. There was this big part of myself and I had not even known it existed, it is absolutely crazy to think about. But I am so glad to be here now. I do not know how it will work out, I cannot know, but I am glad.”

“You should try the trifle,” she smiled, and I reached for a bowl. She was still a stranger, but at the same time her smiles looked like, my confessions and her wishes sounded like we had eaten dinner together a hundred times before. 

I wanted to ask her which other house the hat had considered her for but decided to do so at a later time. I hoped I would have the opportunity. Of course, I could have done it right then but dinner was almost over and the teachers seemed ready to leave. I also wanted to ask her what her favorite color was, what kind of pet she had brought and which school subject she was looking forward to the most; whether she already knew any spells.

The prefect, another Weasley brother, asked us to follow him up to Gryffindor tower and I nervously turned around to Minerva. I was afraid I might never get to see her again, though that was, of course, ridiculous. But even though I was bound to see her in class, at mealtimes and in the common room, I was scared that it wouldn’t be the same as it was at that dinner. She might make other friends and no longer be interested in sharing hopes and dreams with someone like me.

This dinner might have been a one-time only situation, Minerva would be popular, of that I had no doubt, and popular girls had never truly liked me. She really was too cool for me, if I thought about it. I lacked her confidence, her beauty and despite her non-magical father, her heritage. I also never seemed to know how to properly act around people – in a way that would make them want to be my friends. 

Yes, Minerva had clearly been interested in our conversation as well but she might have conversations such as this all the time and with a variety of different people. One chat at dinner might not mean to her that we should become real friends. And I still hardly knew her, I had to admit that, despite the fact that I had felt more connected to her during that short time than I ever had to any of my previous classmates.

“Come on, Hermione, let’s go,” she said, gesturing for me to walk ahead of her as the Weasley twins disappeared into the crowd. “Are you nervous?” I stupidly asked, though I could not even be sure if she heard me as we left the hall. “Very.” She rolled her r when she said the word and for the third time that evening I thought of how pretty the Scottish accent sounded.

“You don’t look it,” I really was being quite stupid. “Why, thank you. It is something that is more prevalent on the inside.” I nodded – she should have seen the gesture form where she was walking directly behind me.

Somebody explained about the stairs and how the steps could move, so you had to be careful if you wanted to end up at your desired destination. I had read about them in Hogwarts: A History. There was nothing one could do to control them, really, but apparently most people got used to the challenge in time and developed an instinct.

Percy made sure that all of us were on the steps of the proper staircase before it started to move but I looked back at Minerva nonetheless. “I’m on the steps, don’t worry,” she said, as she jumped onto my step easily and pushed the both of us up another step as the staircase left its base and started to move.

Ohhs and ahhs resounded around us but Minerva just smiled. The sudden height and distance from solid ground might have scared me in the past but in Minerva’s company the situation seemed more fun and wonderfully magical than anything else. She still held my hand, having easily taken it and pulled me along just before.

“We’re going pretty high, aren’t we?” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. Despite the late hour she did not appear tired at all and beside her, I started to forget about my own tiredness.

It seemed impossible that this was still the same day on whose morning my parents had driven me to King’s Cross, that it hadn’t already been weeks since I happily and anxiously pushed myself through a wall and into a new world, that days had not passed since that fateful and disappointing train ride full of marvelous landscapes and loneliness.

Minerva, on the other hand, appeared fearless. I now knew that she wasn’t exactly familiar with all that the wizarding world entailed either, but she did not let that dissuade her at all. We arrived and she let go of my hand to turn around and jump up the last step and onto solid ground. I did not go as far as to jump but I would say that there was a joyful spring in my step.

Perhaps there would be more time spent with Minerva, perhaps we could have fun in this new world, share thoughts and not be quite so alone. I had not seen her speak to anyone but the Weasley brothers and myself yet but she seemed unbothered by the fact. Maybe, maybe – and I certainly did not wish to jinx it – she could indeed be my friend.

That night I was luckier than I had ever been, lucky to be placed in the same dormitory as Minerva; lucky to have her point to the bed closest to the one she had claimed and inviting me to join her when I was still looking around the room reluctantly. It was a nice dormitory, cozy and old-fashioned, full of antique stone walls, artful window glass, canopy beds and shades of red and gold.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked her as we chatted into the night when we should have been sleeping. My tiredness had, by then, completely evaporated. The adrenaline of living inside this castle, of learning to perform magic and turning into a whole other version of myself did not leave room for exhaustion or sleep.

“Certainly,” was her response. We had kept the curtains open on the side on which we could look right out at each other’s beds. “Which other house did the hat consider you for?” “Ravenclaw.” “Wow, that’s fantastic,” I gushed, sounding silly to my own ears. She raised a dark eyebrow, her face illuminated by the dwindling candle on her nightstand.

Was this like the sleepovers that the girls at my former school had talked about? They always seemed so giddy, so effortlessly carefree but I had never known what it truly felt like to have those kinds of experiences, to be that happy and free. This must have been it, only I felt that once again, I was saying stupid things because nothing else came to mind. Because those were the things I truly wished to know and other than most people, I seemed incapable of deception where it was wanted or needed.

“I mean, so was I. I think it’s cool that we both were,” I told Minerva. “Indeed. Did the hat permit you to have a say in the matter?” “Yes, but he said that Gryffindor would make me happier.”

“Ever since I learnt about Hogwarts, I rather thought that I would be placed in Ravenclaw. It seemed like the best fit but then I chose to trust the hat and risk it. He is a magical hat, he must know what he’s talking about when he says that this will be the happier path and if he was wrong much of the time, it surely would have become known. So chance is on my side, I suppose. I hope.”

“Mhhh,” made Minerva. “The hat didn’t quite speak to me about happiness, it’s a pity. I should have liked to choose happiness, I really would have. But he rather wished to put me in Ravenclaw.” “He said I reminded him of Rowena,” she whispered in an even lower voice than the rest of our conversation was held in. “It’s a great compliment. My mind is profoundly Ravenclaw, he said.”

“But he could also see a great future in Gryffindor,” she added “My life could take on two very different forms but I would become a masterful witch either way. I was a bit confused at first, how to choose when he said that either one would be great but different? How could I decide when I did not know what those differences were specifically?”

“But I rather felt like Gryffindor. He said my mind belonged in Ravenclaw, I agreed but I felt like Gryffindor. I have always enjoyed studying and I do believe I will continue to but I thought, courage is that I wish to master. To have a good life, one needs courage and it is the one thing that everyone is said to develop here in Gryffindor.”

“So you convinced the hat to put you in Gryffindor?” “It wasn’t hard to convince him, it was rather strange. It was a long conversation and for the first couple of minutes, I was entirely confused and felt indecisive. But once I had asked for Gryffindor, he granted my wish without resistance or delay.”

“And may I also ask you if you believe that you and the hat have made the correct choice?” “I think so. How about yourself?” “It is still all so very strange, I feel as though I’m floating and that has got to stop at some point but I believe so, yes.” 

“How does it feel to be the longest hatstall in the history of Hogwarts?” I giggled, feeling daring all of a sudden. “I’m flattered,” her voice was self-deprecating and flat. “Honestly, it did not feel that long. It does make one wonder… I must be a strange creature, mustn’t I?”

A strange creature she was certainly not but rather a pretty girl with long ebony braids that she finally disbanded, leaving a meadow of honeysuckle and waves; a girl with emerald green eyes that looked as though they could hex without a wand; a girl in a green and blue tartan night gown with short sleeves that hit right above her knees surrounded by the cold night air of an ancient castle but unbothered.

I snuggled into my pastel colored flannel pyjamas and felt younger than her, but seen. And comforted by the knowledge that I would fall asleep in the bed next to hers and awaken to see her re-braid her hair, put on a tartan skirt and whatever else it was that she did in the mornings.


End file.
